In the Dark: A Collection of Short Stories
by Ashleg
Summary: Just what the title says. The topics explored vary greatly. R&R please.
1. Cregga's Madness

**_In the Dark: A Collection of Short Stories _**

**Cregga's Madness **

A/N: Though I am a new author here I have written a lot of fanfiction and I will be posting after a quick rest in which I can reorganize into chapters and stuff like that (I will also re-edit all my work, which will take a while). Anyways, this is a collection of short stories so I won't be constantly working on this, but I'll just post a short story once in a while when I'm not stooped up on other stuff. This collection is rated "K+" because of some coarse language, violence scenes, and some sensuality. These will not necessarily be in this story, but involved in the whole collection as a whole. Anyways, this story is about the great battle that is referred to in The Long Patrol, though the book takes place before the battle starts. The story will be centering from Damug Warfang's to Colonel Eyebright's point of view. Without further ado, let's get this show on the road…

Damug Warfang

We've been at the fire mountain for three days now, our fleet being moored in the peaceful bay. We haven't attacked it, just sizing it up, like two combatants circling each other. I think it's a foolish idea, but no, my father thinks we can take the mountain with ease. We have slightly over thirty hundred while the hares number between one thousand and two thousand. Maybe we outnumber them two to one in numbers, but they outnumber us five to one in valiance.

Cunning is needed to bring down this strong enemy, and I would give plenty of mine at the war councils, but no, my stupid dad keeps on prattling off that I'm underage and since Byral's _slightly_ older (he doesn't add that it's also because he's the favorite) he is allowed at the war councils. What balderdash!

The bowsprit that I lean on is sparkling clean, but it won't be so eye throbbing once we've gone through some violent encounters, or it might even be under the sea, with our corpses swimming along it. And mine could very well be along them. But no, I'm too smart for that. Gormad may charge in front of his forces, illumining that a leader with such courage inspires valiance in his troops. But then what use is a leader if he is slaughtered at the first sword stroke?

"Whatcha doing, ya big mackerel," calls out my hare-brained brother (on second thought the mountain hares are smarter than him) who had crept up behind me. He then cracks down and starts cracking out guffaws at his joke. Oh, jeeze what drollness!

"Don't laugh to hard, you might crack," I warn him, smirking. He doesn't hear me, he's still rolling around on the recently scrubbed deck. A thought pops in my mind. Byral always tries to beat me up, but I never really get to strike back at him-now here is my chance when nobody's looking. Thrills of wickedness arched down my spine!

A booted kick from my foot left him breathing hard, staring surprised at me. My hands, clenched in a fist, were smacked down on his bulbous belly. His torso arched up, and I grabbed his neck, smacking his head against the bowsprit. He shuddered with pain. I hauled him by the scruff of his neck into a cabin door. He peeled away, splinters pricking his whole body. I was about to repeat the action again, when a fist smacked into the side of my head.

Gormad Tunn had helped the bruised Byral to his feet, and now he howled with rage at me using incoherent syllables. Spit flecked my face. I knew what was to happen next. Was a brief moment of joy really worth this?

-Colonel Eyebright 

Oh barnacles, and confounded barnacles! Or rather vermin, and confounded vermin! The bally blighters always think they've got the force and cunning to rule the land! Oh, alright so these bubbleheads do outnumber us by two to one and the mountain's never had as many hares in the last flippin' generation!

Gormad and his spawn have done nothing but just jolly stand around and jaw all day. I'm egging Lady Cregga to attack, but she keeps on blubbering about waiting for the bally time. I'll give the blighters time. All us hares are getting rambunctious of our closed quarters (we can't walk a few paces without knocking down something) and no spirit of war when there could be an absobally-flipppinglutely battle going on!

"To arms!" sounds a ringing cry. Yes! I buckle on my abbasi and a bilbo. I also grab a few javelins and rush outside on the balcony.

The beach is stewing alive with hundreds of rows of soldiers, chanting a dreadful war cry and waving their weapons like crazed baboons. Hares on the balcony begin going to their weapons. As the highest commanding officer, I am supposed to lead the troops.

"Archers, slingers, and javelin throwers, release your airborne weapons," I commanded in my best military voice. "Release, then fall back and let row of shield-carriers to the front!"

Carrying a few javelins myself, I added to the attack; I was awarded by death cries. _Come on, _I taunted the enemy silently, _Show me what you've got!_

A few archers retaliated from the army below-our attack had not made a dent in the army. "Bring me the boulders, " I snapped in a brisk tone. In seconds boulders are mounted on the ramparts. My soldiers push them and they plummet, squashing the enemy warriors. That was when I noticed that a few troops had started trying to smash through the entrance. It was really a feeble attempt, but I couldn't let any attack stem us.

"To the gate," I hollered, and set off with some soldiers in hot pursuit…

-Damug Warfang 

"If this attack was any weaker, I'd send my grandma to finish off Gormad," I informed Lugworm.

We were at the back of the army. This was part of my punishment. I was supposed to be embarrassed by being neglected as a fighting beast, and everybody would laugh at me for such cowardice. I didn't care. With any luck, I'd be the one laughing over Gormad's or Byral's dead body. I didn't want to join in such a weak attack anyways. If not for our soldier quantity, the Rapscallions would have been wiped centuries away from the surface of this planet.

Shrieks of pain and surprise echoed as the party at the entrance was ambushed (idiots). Thirty scores of hare soldiers poured out of Salamandastron, hacking furiously with sabers and baselards, thrusting with pikes and lances, bludgeoning with maces and iron clubs. The troops around me fell back at an alarming pace, and I found myself at the front of the regiment.

Since I was the present commander of these troops (I didn't know where the heck Byral and Gormad fled) I decided I might as well do them a good turn. "Loose arrows and other missiles!" I shouted above the din. "Kill as many enemies as possible before engaging!" I caught a hare from behind and swiftly slit his throat with my claw. He didn't have time to respond. I tore his saber from his deceased grasp and walked away. I'd killed a hare. That was more than others had done or would do, and I decide it was satisfying for me.

Unfortunately fate wouldn't have it my way. A trio of da#$ed hares were going after me with thoughts of avenging their companion as I made my way to the good ol' back of the army. But they were gaining on me dreadfully fast. The leader slashed at me with his blade, and I sidestepped the swing just in time. Turning quickly I smacked him a good one on the side of his head.

I should have kept on running when I had the chance. The seasoned hare recovered in an eye blink and his hind legs pummeled into my abdomen. I kneeled over in pain and my adversary smote my brains with the flat of his blade.

The chaos around me swirled in a single cover of suffocating darkness…

-Colonel Eyebright 

"EULALIAAAAAA!" The single, gigantic cry made the earth tremble as our lady badger, Lady Cregga charged into the never-ending mass of vermin. She was like a bally tsunami, calling death to the killers she threw herself upon, her great pike thrusting, stabbing, slashing, and parrying. Those who weren't killed or injured by her maniacal swings, she just jolly squished with her hulking bulk or cracked their skulls with a powerful kick. Myriads of vermin clambered on her, stabbing with their weapons, drawing some blood. But that didn't stop Cregga, oh ye bet it didn't.

She shook herself in fits, throwing off the warriors on her back, and continued surging through the army. The Major Perigord tapping a paw on my shoulder, interrupting me. He showed me an unconscious, young rat.

"Found this blighter as a flippin' commander, sah," he saluted. "Took him a 's a prisoner of war. Any order's, sah?"

'You can flippin' throw him in the sea, for all I jolly care, sah,' was about to be my instant reply, but I thought better about it. "Mount him on the ramparts, hold a dagger to his neck, and tell those bally vermin that they better stop this whasamacalit chaos, or their leader is gonna' be jawing with the barnacles in a few moments," was what I actually said.

Just as Perigord saluted and went on his way, another scum charged me. Jeeze, the flippin' nerve of young un's these days. I took him down with a kick at his groin, and then flipped him aside like a rag. "Better luck next time, sah."

It was just about then that I glanced at shore and my jaw dropped to my feet. The sky was darkening and the waves had begun rising higher. Talk about confounded tsunamis! I grabbed Sergeant Clubrush who was fighting alongside me. "Get every hare inside the palace, some tsunamis are breeding up by the sea," I rapped into his face. "I'm going after Lady Cregga." I left him spinning, and started sprinting alongside the bloody beach…

-Damug Warfang 

"What the?" I began sputtering alive as the hare that had defeated me started dragging me up the stone stairs. "Where am I? Yeah, I'm talking to you, ye big buff! I'm the-" My voice trailed off as I was supposed to say the name of my exalted father. That would _not _be a good idea. "I'm just a common soldier," I concluded. "I was forced to join this army, after the Rapscallions burned the village I lived in and murdered my family!" I began wracking a few sobs at the fake memory. I had begun talking in such earnest that I had actually started to believe myself a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," retorted my enemy. "Tell that to your daddy."

I squinted at him suspiciously. "Oh, yeah my poor little daddy taken to the dark forest at the first strike of those pirate's ambush-"

"Nope, I mean your actual daddy." We had reached a balcony overseeing the bloody chaos below. There stood Gormad and Byral, both bound tight with leather ropes. Oh great.

"Come to join us?" spat out Gormad with utmost hate (hey, no love lost betwixt us).

"At least I wasn't captured in the first blinkin' second," I retorted.

"That's because you were at the back of the force, twiddling your thumbs," Gormad shot back. Byral started to giggle idiotically, but because of his raspy voice, it turned to hiccupping.

"Well, you can settle this reunion later," smirked the hare. "But right now you better get up on your confounded paws and march to the blinkin' rim, straight ahead, sah."

Gormad was not so willing. "I ain't going," he spat out scornfully at such an idea. Hey, maybe Gormad would die before me with some luck!

The hare (Major Perigord, in fact) stopped and sighed. I could understand his feelings.

What happened next surprised me. Gormad, his legs and limbs unusable, hopped over the rim of the balcony using wracks of his body. He wished through the air and squashed a soldier on his descent. Beckoning to a close rat soldier, he shouted a phrase that carried up to us: "Cut my bonds, quickly."

Perigord moved in front of us. "Don't any of you try that, or ye'll find yerself jolly dead, with mah blade between your shoulder blades, sah!"

Byral was just foolish enough to try it. He head butted the sturdy Major in the stomach, but Perigord did not give way. His hind legs shot out and caught Byral on the skull. While Perigord was doing this, I saw my chance and jumped over the ramparts myself.

WHOOOOSH! And then CRACK! I had not been so lucky to land on a living beast. My arm lay useless at my side, blood streaming from the broken limb…

-Colonel Eyebright 

"Death to you!" I cried as the vermin before me fell in two halves. I was battling my way towards Cregga, who had not noticed the tsunami. The vermin, however, had. They scurried around in panic, crowding me in close quarters. Cregga, who now found herself a clear path, charged towards the harbor, intent on destroying the fleet.

Gormad Tunn and his army also were also racing towards their ships in a desperate attempt to avoid the giant wave by boarding their ships. They still had a chance.

Cramps had begun to slow me down, but I still pushed on valiantly. I was getting closer…and so was the tsunami. I sighted Cregga and the vermin sloshing through the shallows. The scum were closer…

I reached the shoreline; water sloshed at my ankles. Half of the Rapscallions had boarded a ship, but Gormad was making for the biggest ship, his ship. So was Cregga. It was a race against time.

I heard a sound behind me and was surprised to see both of Gormad's sons when I turned. "How'd you manage to get past ol' Perigord?" I breathed.

"Skill," boasted the taller one.

"Pure luck," muttered the younger one under his breath.

I am sad to admit I never saw the rock that the younger one carried in his hand. It came up in a blur, but I still had enough time to duck. This left me prone to an attack, as the older one realized, and he quickly smote me across the forehead. I collapsed to the ground and the two walked on (DO NOT TELL ANYBODY ABOUT THIS, OR I WILL HAVE YOUR GUTS ON GARTERS!).

I came to my senses just in time to witness the raging tsunami break forth. Some vermin still had not boarded and they were swept up in a wave of howling water. Lady Cregga had holed a ship with her great pike and now she turned as the tsunami swept her up in its grasp…

-Damug Warfang 

Gormad's fatally wounded.

I heard the lady badger got away, together with her minion.

It was a failed attack: a thousand of our force drowned in the tsunami, if not more.

I knew it would happen this way, since we landed on the forsaken shore.

Vermin will never prevail. We mean destruction-the gods want peace. It will never turn out this way.

To knock down an idea like Redwall, like Salamandastron, like peace and Good, even the most elite warrior will fail. To kill a lot of goodbeasts is an awesome achievement, and it's the farthest we'll ever get.

I know my fate and destiny already-I saw it in a dream-nightmare would be a more appropriate term-last night. Gormad will die. I will defeat Byral in the fight for the Firstblade. I will travel and fight a war against Redwall and Salaman-dastron.

I will fail of course. But lots of good beasts will fall at my whim. And oh, that lady badger will have her full penalty at my sword. In the dream she was permanently blinded. And if things turn out well, she might even die. Oh, wouldn't that be great!

I shook my fist at the furthering shore. "**Watch out you mad badger!**" I howled, going blue in the face. "**It's femme fatale for you! I won't fail like my idiot father! Don't sleep at night-or you might just find a dagger in your ribs, you bi#$!"**

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**A/N: **Well, that's it. It's not that good, since I wrote it all in one day, and it is somewhat rushed at parts. Well, that's it, and don't forgot to leave a review (click the purple button please).


	2. The Lands of Ice and Snow

**The Lands Of Ice And Snow**

A/N: Ok, this is another short story That I wrote in the space of an hour, quite some time ago (around Christmas I believe; in fact _Cregga's Madness_ was actually written on New Year's Eve).This story features on the main villian's homeland from Rakkety Tam. In case you haven't read the novel, I'll provide with some background info.

Gulo the savage wolverine comes from "the lands of ice and snow from beyond the sea". There Dramz, the wolverine king, reigned over a kingdom of ermine and white foxes. Askor and Gulo were his sons, and when he died the one who inherited the "walking stone" would take up the crown. The Walking Stone (fondly nicknamed "Rockbottom") is a tortoise, which has a granite-patterned shell and has a nightie (or so the dibbuns say).

Anyways, my story will take place a few months before Gulo kills Dramz. Obviously there is a port with ships on the land of ice and snow, because references in the story justify it so. However, the castle and other constructions in the story are jewels of my imagination. Also, I will be revisiting some of the characters in the 17th book, like Chaptain Shard, Captain Zerig, etc.

xxx

Gulo prowled the wooden decks, splinters cracking against his frostbitten paws. Back and forth, forth and back. Ermines and white foxes, tens of scores by the number, loaded new ships with cargo, and helped disembark the sailors of the returning ones. A rumble of voices resonated through the port, but Gulo hunted only one.

"So, has yer faithful Herag arrived, bearing any news?" Askor found himself roughly hauled up by his collar and staring into the fierce face of his brother. Gulo spat in his face, "Answer me!"

"Quite the opposite, brother," gasped Askor through the paw squeezing his throat. "He's quite docile now that ye've slaughtered all his family."

Askor was pushed back and knocked over a cart an ermine was pulling along. "Non' o' yer fancy tongue, ye coward," Gulo resonated. "Shoulda done the same thing to ye, then I'd be living a happy life, heh heh."

"Fink yer funny, eh?" lashed back Askor. "Who's laughing-your eejit brain?"

Gulo bellowed with rage and charged forward, his shaggy head lowered. Askor quickly identified this attack and placed his claws in front of him. The dull-witted Gulo had the stumps of his ears dripping blood, as he disengaged himself from his more intelligent brother.

He seemed to step back, as if admitting defeat. Then, with a lightning fast swipe, he zipped his claws against Askor's ribs drawing slits overflowing with blood.

By this time vermin bystanders had been attracted by the commotion and they formed a ring around the two combatants. They set up a blood-chilling cry that set up the mind of the innocent, "Fight, fight, FIGHT!"

"STOP!" The two brothers and their white-furred soldiers fell silent at the strong cry, and all eyes fell on the mighty figure of King Dramz.

Swathed in cloaks and capes of the finest thread, golden, silver, and multicolor, he was thriving with rings, bracelets, earring, nose studs, and toe rings of the finest gold and teeming with crystals and gems, their cast of brilliant luster turning the faces of bystanders away. The crown stood lopsided on his furry head, an artwork of mined steel forged into artistic sculptures of mighty, past wolves of history that had ruled the land. Aware of the beauty he was causing, he strode over to Askor and his brother, and thence demanded to know what had happened.

"Gulo attacked me fer no reason at all," declared Askor. "I swear-"

"Yah, swear to yer being a d& liar," Gulo interrupted. "An' ye'll break that bond too, 'cause ye started it."

At this point Dramz interrupted, favoring his preferred son. "Now, now-let's not argue. I know Gulo had ter start it-why would Asky start it?" Dramz threw a paw around Askor's shoulder fondly. "Now Gulo, ye need to spend a day in the dungeons fer disobeying the rules that support the dignity of wolverines. We don't pick fights in ship ports."

Gulo shot hatred-full glares at Dramz. Oh, he'd kill that one soon enough, his father couldn't escape his wrath for much longer…

xxx

Captain Shard pulled up a chair in the liquor-smelling tavern. Around him were seated: his beloved mate Freeta, his fellow captain Zerig, and other popular leaders of the white fox contigement in Dramz's army. They all gathered around here, once a week, to discuss the latest going-ons and have a good time testing new beverages.

Shard lovingly fingered a small cask of some new merchandise pillaged by the island's ships-a dark bottle of some alcoholic swill with indistinct balloon-shaped figures swimming in the brew.

"Ah mates, try some of this stuff. Ah tells ye this is prime rum imported from some island northeast a' here. Strongest thin' ye ever tasted." The bottle was passed around the table and each fox swallowed a mouthful, and faces reddening, had to agree with Shard.

A few hiccups later, Zerig started conversation, "Didja hear 'bout what happened at the port today?"

Shard was anonymous about those happenings. "No-what happened?"

"I tells ya mates," another fox interrupted. "'Twas a sight tah see! Askor and Gulo practically ripped each other apart!"

"Ye all knows," put in Freeta. "Dramz is getting old, and his heritage will go to one of his sons. Who would thou say deserves the walking stone?"

"Gulo," shouted Shard. "Sure, he might not be smart, but that would give us more freedom around his mind!"

"Askor," put in Zerig. "He was always the less fiercer one."

"Thou should think Gulo," retorted Freeta. "His small brain would give us more power to manipulate like my mate said."

"Askor," replied the one named Herag. "He would treat us better."

Shard raised his glass of wine in the air. "Whoever it is, let's hope it is a good choice…and doesn't lead us to our deaths."

xxx

A word to my reviewers:

Kayla Silvercat: Thank you for your good-sized review. I suspected "illusioning" not to be a word since it appeared on my spell check and I think I am a pretty good speller, but I couldn't think of another word. And the think with Damug breaking his arm, ah man I just screwed up there. Thanks for bringing it to my attention; I might edit it.

Turrluck009: I appreciate your review a lot and you're right it did sound sorta weird for Damug to try when his chances had run out. But I felt like going philological in the end there and I also wanted to show how far Damug's hatred extended for Cregga.

Avlblu: Well, I guess, when looking back on it, I did have a sort of thing going with the dad/father thing. And I did use censorship on the swearwords, because on one side I wasn't to be realistic (imagine how much vermin should swear), but on the other hand I don't really swear out loud and I wanted to keep from using actual swearwords in my fic. And just to let you know, this is far from my actual style and I don't usually write stories in this sort of way (you'll see my writing style when I post "The Seeker's Path", The novel I'm working on) but I like to expirement with different writing styles in my short stories. Anyways, thanks for the constructive criticism (wow, this response was long).

Aelita6349: Well, thanks for the positive review, but to tell you the truth, _I _haven't read any Code Lyoko, so I would be just as sad as you, when it comes to reviewing Code Lyoko fanfics.

grubswiper: I've put you on my favorites list, too, and your comments were well appreciated. See you around, pal!

Whew! I'm glad that's over and don't forget to review this story too.


	3. Snowflake

**Snowflake**

A/N: This is the last short story I'm going to post up before I get back to work on revising "The Seeker's Path". This is a story I wrote a fairly long time ago, about a year or two. A lot of it is weird, but hey, who isn't. It's a sort of autobiography about this dude, but I cut it short after his childhood, because I didn't want this to be too long. Anyways, I hope you enjoy and remember to leave a review. Thanks.

xxx

**Life is a labyrinth, a nexus, a circuitry. In its own diverse way, life is a tree, with each branch crystallized, extending to sui generis paths where fate and destiny collide. Each mortal life is placed in the palm of a gauntleted fist, with barely enough space to remain. Then the "hand of fate" crushes each life, moving to and fro, fingers snuffing out destinies. Only each femo-second is a few years for us mortals. And from each crushed life rises a new one and the cycles begins anew.**

**From a certain point of view, life is like a myriad of snowflakes.**

**Well, if that's true, I'm surrounded by life. Winter has indeed taken its wrath upon my home, the forest of Sagianous, where my tribes of gray-furred squirrels thrive. And winter has taken its asperity on me. I am white-haired, a sign of my multiple years. My fate is probably to be frozen amongst these snow-crusted pines. I was once young, and thought myself immortal. Seasons of age have taught me lessons, and I am wiser now.**

**Though I am to die this day, I am leaving this account of my life to anyone with an urge to learn. It will probably be lost among the snowflakes, but at least I will die with a clear conscience.**

**I do not know if my meager supply of ink will last during my tale. I can at least try.**

**I dip my quill in ink, now where to start? With your birth, you buffoon! Right! Tut-tut, I am getting stupider in my old age…**

xxx

The day of my birth was not a sunny day.

Well, actually it was a sunny day _before _I was born.

I was born around noon, in the city streets of Lavonia. Before that it had been a perfect day transmitted from the atmosphere. The sphere of bullion called the sun radiated rolling waves of warmth from its cerulean kingdom. Silky clouds drifted with a downy bounce, burnished with a silvery flush. Jade, verdant vegetation were bathed in aureate glory, as various creatures milled about, with new heart to their daily troubles and work.

Then came the storm, enveloping the world in a translucent, obsidian darkness. The clouds, which had before radiated peace, now turned into dark, roaring, ugly bulls that clashed, their horns ripping their blurred shapes to tattered, cotton pieces. Drowning gales of rain devoured spirits and bodies alike. Bolts of lightning illuminated the ebon sky, as thunder deafened the eardrums of vermin and goodbeasts alike. The downpour increased to hail, and ice the size of grapes splattered against the wildlife. Cheerful? You got the wrong point, matey.

My mom blamed the tempest on me; who knows (?), she may be right. Misfortunes have followed me.

On the other hand, it wasn't a sunny day for my family, either.

Well, first I have to enlighten you about my heritage.

My mom used to be a beggar. She wandered the cities, begging at doorsteps, groveling at ordinary merchants, praising stay-at-home wives, and even playing some crummy music on a flute for a few tokens and coins. My father was a humble ex-carpenter who had left home in search of adventure, and classically fell in love. My mother had gotten pregnant with my sister (Eremia), a few years before I was born.

My family called the streets of Lavonia home, though it sure wasn't a 'home, sweet home' type of home. It was mostly populated with: gangs, thieves and relatively poor beasts. Taking in account that my family fitted in the 'poor beasts' section, they fared pretty well. We had a slightly rundown shack, not big but more than enough space for four squirrels.

As soon as I was born, I learned the harsh lesson: "_With these type of messmates, ye gotta work for ye food. Ye ain't special, ye ain't rich. Ye do watt I say, or I'll bring your skin peeling off with scars from mah whip.' _That seemed to be my father's favorite saying. He was bursting with pride when he toted his whip: a slender flog of tough hide (from who knows what animal), incised and patched, clean and vicious.

The work I did weren't chores; they were the cores of our financial survival. As the males of the group, my father and I worked the hardest. My mother cooked and sweeped part of the inside of our shack. My spiteful sister did the rest of the cleaning inside our domicile. I spent the middays and afternoons, drowning in sweat outside, as I toiled in our spare fields. I collected peas and corn, reaped wheat, struggled with planting soils and got chewed up by termites and ticks. I often sprouted fevers and diminutive diseases from these bites. In the evenings, I worked behind our self-effacing dwelling. It was a land of dirt, muck, bugs and other unpleasant surprises. The place was layered in dung and urine, clothed in a foul stench. But what scared me were the cockroaches.

The oval, flat-bodied insects crawled over anything, leaving hideous effects in its trail. I killed them, but there were always more.

I habitually got on the wrong side of my father's whip. About six times a month I was lashed. These incidents left crimson marks, on my body, the scars stretching spider-like. I steadily, but slowly learned my lesson, and started getting more seldom in trouble. My mother didn't exactly show disdain, but she didn't seem to care, only routinely saying: _"Hey, a lot of people have it harder than you. Many people don't have a roof over their heads, grub in their mouth, and a caring sister to nurse them when they feel in the glooms."_

Well, she certainly wasn't right about my sister. Oh sure, she might seem nice and 'Mrs. Goody-Goody' around my parents, but when we were alone she would show her true side. Though we had a large number of quarters, my father insisted we stay in a minimum number of rooms, so we wouldn't get lost. My sister and I shared a room, and she would often beat me up. When I sobbed, she smirked and asked: _"What's wrong, snitnose? Oi dearie me, did thou get a-hurt?" _I would always try to fight back, but she was stronger than me, on account of being a few years older. My parents were never interested in my bruises, assuming I had received them in natural clumsiness. She sure didn't need a whip to grant me pain!

Then happened a chain of incidents that would bestow a major change upon my life…

xxx

**The snub of my quill broke, shaking me out of my fantasies. It was better I not continue. From then on things had taken a turn for the worse. I had joined a gang of rats after a few years, desperate to make my life into the cruel world. But things went worst for me from then on. I became an experienced pickpocket and believed myself to never be able to get caught. How wrong I was. I was caught one a rainy, spring day and was thrown in jail. From there, I escaped my prison cell and joined the navy. And so began a life of war…and angst. My life.**


	4. Cluny and the Pike

_**Cluny and the Pike**_

Author's Note: not much of a title, I know, but I'm not a whiz at titles or anything. I haven't put up a story here for a long time but mainly because I've been busy with 'The Seeker's Path". I decided to take a break from that, temporarily and put up a short story. This story features the battle against a pike in Cluny's youth where Cluny lost an eye and the pike lost a life. Well, that's all for now, enjoy the story.

xxx

"Cluny," Redtooth gasped, while racking his ribs for more air, "Skullface foun' a river half a league away."

Cluny snarled at the sword rat. "Oh wow, 'Cluny, I found a river; Cluny, I found a river'," he mocked in a high-pitched voice, "are you scum so brainless you can't decide on anything?"

"I thoug't you ought too know," muttered Redtooth beneath his breath. Unfortunately, Cluny caught the words and whacked him over the face dragging his claws over the stained black fur.

"Go tell the soldiers, set the pace to a double trot, pick out a few rats and send them with you to start making camp on the riverbank. Oh, and while you're at it, spare me the misfortune of looking at your face so put a bag over your head." Cluny sniggered insanely while Redtooth stomped away.

xxx

The fishing lines were hardly miracles of engineering, just some sturdy branches or poles with rusty hooks fitted over them. On the hook were fitted some rotten apples and then lowered into the river. Some rats were successful and others hardly so. Soon there were campfires blazing and fish-from big graylings to small 3-cm long Adonises-roasting on the orange-tinged flames.

Cluny contented himself with mainly feasting his mouth and contenting his belly on other rats' fish but afterwards decided that it might help his image if he seemed to contribute to the work. He fixed up a fishing pole under his foot, too lazy to handle it more effectively, and lay back gazing at the star-filled night sky.

After a few minutes he felt a twitch under his paw. Then another one a little stronger. The third one almost loosened his pole from underneath his foot. He leaned forward and grabbed the pole and tugged. Wouldn't it be just great if he caught this whooping great fish in front of his army?

But it looked as if the fish had a stronger grip than him. He began to slide forward in the dirt and he began to tug harder. His muscles bulged and his fur started taking on a red tinge. His progress towards the river stopped. Now every rat was gazing at him, watching their mighty warlord struggling against a fish. Cluny seemed to feel that he was pulling the big fish closer to him, so he unsheathed a cutlass to cut the fish up when he dragged him on shore. The great rat grinned feral-like. He had the fish now.

But the sudden movement in drawing his blade out gave his quarry the time to pull forwards and the rat's foot slipped. He tumbled into the river with a great splash that soaked just about every rat standing around.

The world changed around him in a second. Before crackling fires and roasting fish in the semi-dark atmosphere had surrounded him. Now an aqua light shone through he water around him and bubbles popped out of his pores and made their way to the surface.

A slender body topped with small scales ending in a long head whipped past him and Cluny immediately understood his predicament-he was facing a _pike in his natural habitat. _A shovel-like snout smashed into the left side of his face and strong teeth ripped at the flesh and skin. His left eye went black and with his right eye he saw the blue-green water change to red. Bolts of pain charged through his nerve system and he felt hapless.

But he didn't give up. With a boost from his leg grating against the side of the riverbed he floated up to the surface and grabbed for the bank as the pike, fins flattened, charged for him again. This time he hit him in the ribs with a satisfying crack and then he unleashed his teeth to the flesh underneath his ribs. But before he could bite Cluny acted.

Now that they were on the surface of the river, Cluny could swing his cutlass with full speed. And he did just that, the cutting blade of steel was swung at the pike's large mouth halfway cutting off his jaws and making most of the pike's teeth useless with a satisfying swish and thump. Blood gushed in a miniature fountain.

But the battle was not over yet. The pike hugged Cluny's foot with his body and pulled downwards. Roaring like an insane beast (which he sort of was) Cluny went underwater again.

Cluny dropped his sword and wrapped both muscled arms around the pike's neck, his hands covering the fins. He squeezed tight with all his strength. But the pike was not going down, not just yet. His long and thick tail moved like a lightning bolt and he smashed the big rat against the riverbed side.

Cluny felt weak and tired as the most of the rest of his ribs broke on contact. He avoided another charge by the pike and felt even weaker. His lungs felt like someone was torturing them with a red-hot knife. He couldn't keep this up anymore. His vision was starting to swim and corners of his sight were starting to go black.

With the last of his strength he pulled himself out for a second and gulped a mouthful of clean fresh air. But then the pike charged him again bringing him down in his underwater realm. Cluny gambled on his last chance, his secret weapon. His long and powerful tail came whipping around just as fast as the pike's tail had and he struck the pike's neck tendons. There was a satisfying crack and the pike's head lolled to one side. He was dead-Cluny had broken his neck. Cluny had won!

Fatigue almost overwhelming him, Cluny heaved himself out of the river and collapsed on the bank. There was a gasp of astonishment and the crowds of rats drew back. Ribs were sticking out of Cluny's skin and chunks of flesh were missing. Blood swathed his chest and stomach making his black fur a deep scarlet color. His face had a long vertical chunk of flesh missing from it, and that trench was flooded by blood. His eyeball was hanging to his socket only by a flap of skin and tendons and blood covered his pupil so he couldn't see.

He gazed at his assembled soldiers and Cheesethief quickly scurried off with half a dozen other rats, shouting over his shoulder, "We'll get you a healer, boss, don't you worry!"

The last words Cluny uttered before he passed out from exhaustion, pain, and loss of blood were:

"Screw them pikes."

xxx

Kayla Silvercat: Stupider is a word; I looked it up at Well yeah "Snowflake" is more advanced technologically and in all those other ways than the environment that Brian Jacques uses in his series. And actually "Snowflake" is the first of a trilogy of short stories; only I'm working on the second one so I don't know if you'll see that soon.

Grubswiper: Yeah this was a little depressing but who doesn't give for a healthy portion of angst? See ya around!

Avelblue: Well, yeah this was actually a prologue for a longer fic. The reason the first paragraph was so scientific and stuff was…I don't know! Really, I have no idea why I made it that way, I just did cause it felt cool and all. Yeah thanks for the criticism-I mean I appreciate a lot how you take the time to point out like all my faults in my writing and stuff like that.

Narfgirl: Hey, thanks for putting me on my favorite list and thanks for all your wonderful compliments. If I can I will get the time to review your story too (It'll be this summer I promise, I just need to get a few things settled down).

Agent D: yeah it is a journal and it does sort of sound like some of Jacques's books where a character is telling the story to another character.


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